They Say That On My Planet Too
Disclaimer: The Doctor and company belong to the BBC. And maybe bits of them, sometimes, belong to Fox Television, Universal Pictures, Vivendi International... oh hell, when are they ever going to get this sorted out? Anyway, despite all this confusion I can say without a doubt that none of this belongs to me. I'm just playing with other people's toys and not making any ch-ching from it.
---early evening---
It was all the Doctor's fault. He'd kissed that Holloway woman. Twice. The Master had been eavesdropping at the time, and was shocked. Shocked! Time Lords just don't do that sort of thing! And then, later, when he had the Doctor on the ropes, so to speak, when he was stealing the life from his old adversary, their minds touched. Just for a moment, he remembered what the Doctor remembered; felt what he'd felt.
That kiss. Great Rassilon, that kiss! He'd felt that too. And the feelings that accompanied it. He liked it. Wanted more.
But then his evil scheme had gone all pear-shaped. The Doctor escaped; the TARDIS ate him up and spat him out again. In San Francisco, sans TARDIS, in a body that was rapidly failing.
He still had his hypnotic powers though, and before long he'd used them to piece together a neat little empire of crime, the proceeds of which kept him supplied with the drugs he needed to keep his borrowed body functioning. They were also paying for tonight's entertainment.
He heard the knock at his door and smiled in anticipation.
---well after midnight---
The evening had started so nicely. He looked his best, in fine black velvet, his beard why couldn't this body grow a proper beard? neatly trimmed. And she, judged by the crude standards of her species, was quite beautiful as well, though he supposed that was only to be expected of a woman in her, er, profession. All eyes were upon them as they made their way from one trendy night spot to the next.
Until they returned at last to his penthouse and began the kissing in earnest. It wasn't the same though. That feeling of being swept away, of being blissfully out of control when had he ever wanted to relenquish control? was lacking. And his escort was impatient, moving quickly from kissing to fondling; from fondling to removing his clothes.
And then - horror of horrors! - she'd laughed. At him. Didn't she know he was the Master? Renegade Time Lord, scourge of countless worlds and ruthless crime boss of San Francisco? Of course not. If she knew who he was she'd never have dared to laugh. And if he'd still had his TCE she'd have died a horrible death that instant. But he'd been so stunned all he could do was mumble, "Would you believe it's bigger on the inside?"